Whatever Happened to Wonder Woman?
by BobH2
Summary: Everyone knows about Wonder Woman retiring and what she's done since then, but only three people know why.


"A year has passed since Wonder Woman retired from the Justice League and from her role as a crime-fighter. Now join me, Trish Conway, for a Galaxy Broadcasting special as we look back on Diana's life over the past twelve months."

I frowned at the TV, shaking my head at Trish's words. Nobody but those involved knows the full story behind my retirement, nor will I ever tell anyone else. I prefer looking forward to looking back. In fact I think about my time as a super-hero so rarely I can barely even remember what being Wonder Woman felt like any more. Since I have a job and a life to get on with, concentrating on the here and now is more important to me than dwelling on how things used to be. I've put those days behind me, left them in the past where they belong. So much so that memories of my adventures are becoming increasingly unreal to me as time passes, almost as if they were something I only dreamed, or perhaps things that actually happened to someone else. And maybe it's better that way.

A year ago Frank Becker was the hottest young lobbyist in Washington DC, and might still be for all I know, so when he told me he had something of the utmost importance for me and asked for a secret meeting at an out of the way truck stop in rural Iowa at three in the morning I was intrigued, but suspicious. I flew there from the capital in my invisible jet, circling the diner in order for the plane's advanced sensors to scan it for any obvious threats or signs of an ambush. Finding none I'd then landed it in the section of the parking lot furthest from the diner so as to minimize the chance of a trucker trying to park his rig in the same space. Not that this was very likely since the lot was lit only by the light from the diner.

This being a rural area and land being cheap the lot was impressively large but it contained only two vehicles: a dented and rusting twenty year-old station wagon that occupied a staff parking spot behind the diner, and a shiny new rental car out front that was almost certainly Becker's. To get here he would have to have flown in to Des Moines then driven the rest of the way from the airport.

It was November, but despite being clad in a costume that covered no more flesh than the average swim suit my Amazon powers ensured I didn't feel the cold as I made my way across the asphalt to the diner. Once I was inside a quick glance around revealed it to be empty save for a solitary waitress, who was polishing the counter.

"Take a seat, hon," she said, barely looking up from her task. "I'll be with you in a second."

I did as she suggested, sliding into a seat that gave me an unobstructed view across the parking lot. The waitress was a stout woman, middle-aged and overweight. She was wearing a white apron over a fairly standard knee-length maroon waitressing dress with short sleeves, and white collar and cuffs. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun and cheap-looking button earrings adorned her ears. Finishing her polishing she came over to the table allowing me to examine her more closely, to take in her double chin, the 'crow's feet' around her eyes, and that she dyed her hair in an effort to keep the encroaching grey at bay. According to the badge she was wearing, her name was Maggie.

"What'll it be?" she asked, taking the pencil from behind her ear and the order pad from her apron pocket.

"Just a glass of water, please," I said.

"Sure I can't get you a coffee?"

"No, thank you, water will be fine."

"Then water it is!"

Maggie slid the pencil back behind her ear and returned the order pad to her apron.

"We don't get many super-heroes in here," she said, finally acknowledging I wasn't a typical customer.

"Looks like you don't get many people at all," I replied.

"It's usually a lot busier, even in this location, but what with it being a holiday weekend an' all there aren't as many trucks on the road as usual and business is way down. So what brings you to our little diner, might I ask?"

"I'm supposed to be meeting someone here. I assumed that was his rental car outside."

"Oh, so you're here for that guy?"

"Do you know where he is?"

"He went in back to have a word with Burt, our short-order cook and...oh, here he is now. I'll get you your water."

So this was Frank Becker. I studied him as he walked towards me. He was tall, blandly handsome, late-twenties, dressed in an immaculate three piece business suit, and carrying a briefcase. I recognised the type. He was as polished and confident as any number of identikit lobbyists who thronged Washington DC, but if even half the stories about his powers of persuasion were true then he was on another level to them. He had come out of nowhere a few months ago and quickly become a phenomenon in his field.

"Ah, Princess Diana," he said, sliding into the seat opposite and laying his briefcase down on the table. "I'm a great admirer."

He held out his hand.

"Frank Becker. It's a genuine honor to meet you."

I shook his hand.

"You said you had something important to show me, Mr Becker, something potentially life-changing?"

"Yes, yes I do and...ah, here's Maggie with your water. Maggie, won't you join us, please?"

The waitress looked at me questioningly, gave a little shrug, then slid in next to Becker.

"Tell us about yourself, Maggie."

"What are you doing?" I asked, frowning.

"Everything will soon become clear, I promise. Go ahead please, Maggie."

The other woman threw a glance at me, shrugged, then began her tale.

"My full name is Margaret Bronwen Jones and I'm fifty-two years old. I don't have much of an education since I hated school, played hooky a lot, and left when I was fourteen. I was always more interested in boys than in learning, anyway. As a teenager I was a runner up in a couple of local beauty contests here in Iowa, so as soon as I turned twenty-one I decided to move to Los Angeles and become a Hollywood actress. Which didn't work out as well as I'd hoped. I got a couple of bit parts in low-rated TV shows but I spent most of my time there waitressing and fending off the attentions of various sleazy agents and other scumbags who prey on naive girls like me."

She paused, grimacing at the memory, before continuing.

"Stupidly, I eventually gave in. I was desperate, so I slept with a producer after he promised to make me a star, got knocked up, and found myself out on the street. My father had to mail me money for a ticket so I could come back home to Iowa with my newborn son. Been here ever since, getting older, putting on a lot of weight, and using the waitressing skills that were all Los Angeles ever gave me. Doesn't mean I don't still dream of Hollywood and the life I should have had there. But over the years I've come to realise it wasn't film roles I truly wanted - it was the lifestyle."

"A sad story," I said.

"Indeed it is," said Becker, laying his hand over mine and locking eyes with me, "and I think Maggie deserves a second chance. Which brings us to you, Diana. A big part of my job is reading people, and I'm very good at it, so I can tell the pressure of being Wonder Woman has been getting to you lately. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yes," I said, gazing into his eyes, "yes, you are."

"It's become overpowering, a burden you would gladly lay down if you could."

"Yes...a burden."

I couldn't break away from Becker's gaze or from his touch, and I found that I didn't want to. "And there are other things weighing on you too. Most people would look at you and think you had everything. They would never understand how it was possible for your youth and beauty to become millstones around your neck, yet it's clear to me that they have; I can see it in your eyes. The incessant attention they attract has been making you increasingly uncomfortable for a long time until it's now become intolerable, am I right?"

He gripped my hand tightly as his voice seemed to fill the world.

"You are!" I said, tears welling up. It was as if a dam had broken somewhere inside me releasing feelings I'd been keeping suppressed. I hadn't been able to admit to any of this before he spoke, but it was all so clear to me now. I'd been lying to myself for years.

"It's like you've looked into my soul," I sobbed, "and made me confront how much I hate almost everything about my life. It's unbearable."

"I know, I know," said Becker, soothingly. "It's hard finally facing up to the truth like this, but let it all out and let your tears flow. You'll feel better after a good cry. And don't despair. It may seem like your situation is hopeless, but it isn't. I can help you."

"You...you can?" I said, stifling my sniffles.

"I believe so, yes. And the answer lies with Maggie here. Her life is free from the stresses you're buckling under, so it would be perfect for you. Think about it. If you were her the unwelcome attention your youth and beauty attracts would be gone. So would the weight of expectation placed on you as Wonder Woman. You wouldn't have to be careful about your public image, or live up to the impossible standards demanded of a role model, because nobody would idolise you anymore or care what you did. Instead of fame you would have anonymity. You would be... ordinary, just another one of the thousands of unremarkable women leading unremarkable lives who do the lowly but important jobs that keep this country running. Look at her, really look at her, and you'll see that not only does Maggie have the simpler life you need, but that she herself is also everything you want to be."

"Yes," I said, looking at Maggie enviously, as if scales had fallen from my eyes and I was seeing her for the first time, "she has, and she *is*, but how does knowing this help me?"

"Because I have the ability to move minds between bodies. I can swap your lives, if you want me to."

"Oh, I do!" I said, hope swelling in my heart. "I want that more than I've ever wanted anything."

"I want it too," said Maggie, looking at me hungrily.

"Then give me your hand, Mom," he said.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Maggie is my mother," said Becker, taking her hand. "Now close your eyes."

We did as he asked, he squeezed our hands, and a brief moment of vertigo followed. Then Becker spoke again. "Open your eyes, ladies."

When I did I saw I was no longer sitting opposite Maggie but opposite myself, opposite Princess Diana.

"You did it!" she said, looking down at herself in amazement before raising slender fingers to her beautiful young face. "I...I'm Wonder Woman, just like you promised me I'd be!"

I reacted similarly to my own unfamiliar body, eyes sweeping over my large bosom, past the badge with my new name on it, and down to the chunky thighs in their thick, elasticated pantihose poking out from beneath the skirt of my waitress uniform. Becker, who thanks to the switch was now sitting next to me rather than across from me, reached into his briefcase and took out two hand-mirrors, silently passing one to each of us. I stared at my doughy, middle-aged face in wonderment. I could hardly believe she was me, that this was the face that would stare back at me from mirrors from this day forward. I was no longer young, thin, or beautiful. I patted my hair bun, ran pudgy fingers over my double chin, and smiled happily, letting out a long sigh of relief. I was free. Magg...no, Diana, her name is Diana now, was studying her own reflection with equal delight.

"Thank you for this," I said, choking up, "thank you so much!"

"You're welcome," she said, not turning her gaze from the mirror. "And Maggie? I think I'll take that coffee now."

"Oh, of course," I said, hauling myself to my feet. "One pot coming up."

As I moved off I was acutely aware of the weight hanging from my frame, the heavy breasts, thick waist, huge butt, and the way my thighs rubbed together as I walked. All of it new, and all of it both comforting and exciting. As soon as I was behind the counter and filling a coffee pot from the machine, I ran my free hand over my ample curves, grabbing a handful of belly flab and nodding approvingly.

"You OK, Maggs?"

A dark-haired middle-aged man wearing a white chef's hat and smock was frowning at me from the cooking area in the rear of the diner. This had to be Burt.

"I'm fine, Burt," I said, smiling. "In fact I've never been better!"

I carried the coffee over to the table, where Becker asked me to join them again after I'd poured out a cup for Diana.

"I'm giving you a phone you must keep with you at all times in case Diana ever has to contact you to check anything, but in the meantime I want you to tell her everything she needs to know about her new life. Where she lives, bank account numbers, secrets friends have shared with you - everything. Oh, and the invisible plane. Did you fly here in that?"

"I did, yes."

"Is it easy to fly?" asked Diana, looking at me uncertainly.

"Very easy. I preferred to do so manually but that's not necessary. Once you're in the cockpit just concentrate where you want to go and it will fly you there on autopilot. It's VTOL and totally silent, so you don't need a runway and can land it almost anywhere. Also, it's not invisible to Amazon eyes."

"Good, good," she said, sounding relieved. "Now I need you to tell me everything else, starting with boyfriends..."

For the next forty minutes I sat there answering all Diana's questions while she recorded my answers on her phone. When we were done she seemed pleased.

"That was excellent, Maggie, thank you. Now I need to fill you in on your life."

Frank Becker took my hand.

"Listen carefully to everything we say and treat it as gospel," he said. "This is your life now, and Diana's going to tell you how you live it."

"So, you and Burt car share every day to save money, taking turns to drive in from the trailer park ten miles from here where you both live," said Diana. "That's your station wagon parked outside. When business is really slow you and Burt sometimes have a quickie in the back of it. You live paycheck to paycheck and own nothing of any real worth."

"But you're OK with that," said Becker. "Material possessions mean little to you and you're content with what you have."

"You usually work the night shift at the diner," said Diana, "handing over to the manager Randy, who's half your age, when he gets in at six a.m. He's kind of cute, if really full of himself, and orders everyone around more than he needs to."

"You don't resent him for this," added Becker, "because he's your boss and you know - and accept - your lowly place in society. You have no ambition at all, or much curiosity about anything beyond the confines of your simple little life here in Iowa. You find being a waitress fulfilling because deep down you know this is your true calling. You have no desire to ever be anything else. It's good, honest work that makes the best use of your limited skills and lack of education. You're grateful to have a job you love, and there's nowhere else you'd rather be."

"No, there isn't," I said looking around the diner and smiling with pride, knowing this was where I belonged.

"Don't forget to take cigarette breaks, Maggie," said Diana. "You've been smoking a pack a day since you were twelve so your body's used to them, and it's important not to deny yourself life's little pleasures."

"I won't," I promised.

There was more, of course, mundane details about my usually empty checking account, the importance of clipping vouchers to my weekly budget, where I shopped, who I got on with at the trailer park and who I didn't, and like that. Soon enough it was time for them to leave and they stood up to go.

"Be sure to leave a generous tip when you pay for my coffee, Frank," said Diana. "Remember, Maggie earns minimum wage so she relies on tips to make ends meet."

"Of course," he said, plucking a ten dollar bill from his billfold and laying it on the table. "There you go, Maggie."

"Thank you for everything," I said, getting teary eyed as Becker shook my hand. "What you've done for me...there are no words."

"No, I should be the one thanking you. Helping you to realise this was the woman you wanted to be and the life you should be leading, then making it so, has been very satisfying. It was an honor to be able to do this for you. Not everyone with a superpower wants to squeeze into a spandex costume and fight crime. Although after working in Washington politics my understanding of what is and isn't criminal has become much more...flexible. Anyway, my abilities are better suited to 'nudging' politicians to do the right thing or, like today, to doing something special for my Mom. Oh, and for you, of course. They can also be used to enact a measure of justice, as they were when I finally caught up with the lowlife producer who fathered me, Samuel J. Becker. He always denied paternity and never gave my mother a dime in child support while I was growing up. I switched him with his elderly gardener, making him an illegal who's since been deported back to Mexico. He'll end his days alone and in poverty, if he hasn't already. Mom and I had nothing when I was a kid. Now I'm going to make sure we have everything."

Then it was Diana's turn. She laid her hands on my shoulders and regarded me thoughtfully.

"You're so perfect like this, just so, so perfect!" she said, grinning. "I love it! Being Maggie Jones looks good on you, it really does, and I know you're going to make a great waitress. We're so fortunate to have the gift Frank has given us both. I hope you'll show your gratitude by embracing your new life, because I plan on embracing the hell out of mine." Diana leaned down and kissed me on the forehead.

"Goodbye, Maggie," she said squeezing my right shoulder affectionately, a dazzling smile on that beautiful young face of hers. "I doubt we'll ever meet again."

With that she turned and left. As the door closed behind her and Becker, so Burt emerged from the back of the diner. He had taken his chef's hat off, revealing he was completely bald on top.

"Wait, was that Wonder Woman?"

"The very same," I said, watching my former body as Diana walked away in it, relieved to see it go.

"Shit, I wish I'd come out to meet her instead of staying in back reading porn mags. What's she like?"

"Very generous. She gave me something wonderful that I hadn't even known I wanted."

"Huh. Guess this must be your lucky day, Maggs."

"The luckiest day of my life," I agreed.

"Shame she didn't stick around. We still have another two hours until our shift is over and I'm getting bored."

Right on cue, there came the rumbling sound of a mighty engine from outside as an eighteen wheeler pulled onto our lot.

"Finally, a rig!" said Burt, happily.

As he returned to the kitchen I retrieved the pencil from behind my ear and the pad from my apron pocket, ready to take the meal order of my first customer.

That was a year ago. Amazing how time flies! All this I remembered as I watched the flickering images on the small TV in the corner of my trailer. I've followed Diana's life with interest ever since we parted that day, so the pictures being shown brought back a lot of memories. After announcing her retirement, she joined the celebrity circuit with a vengeance, her love life making her a regular in the gossip mags. But that's what happens when you date some of the most handsome young stars in Hollywood. There have been some sniffy comments made about the fact she goes out clubbing most nights, that she's been caught on camera several times smoking a cigarette, and about how she should be a role model. I disagree. It's her life and she has to be allowed to live it however she wants.

Apart from the occasional charity event or when meeting a Make A Wish Foundation child, the only time Diana wears her costume these days is in ads promoting Wonder Woman merchandise, the popularity of which has made her very wealthy. I assume Frank Becker made sure she has the best possible financial managers and that they will never try to rip her off. She's raked in millions from her WW fragrances alone, with the toy and clothing lines earning millions more. She's finally living the life she always dreamed of, and I'm happy for her. I'm also happy for me. I'm Margaret Bronwen Jones, a fifty-three year old truck stop waitress, and I can't imagine ever wanting to be anything more.

"""""""""""""

The End

"""""""""""""


End file.
